He might have- Once
by AshtreeTherapist
Summary: Whatshername and Johnny were sure that they'd get a happily ever after. They hadn't accounted for the "Saint" who had taken over him. He might have loved her once; but Whatshername couldn't tell. She might move on, but will Johnny get over what he considers is the worst betrayal of all? A two-shot touching upon their break-up.
1. Chapter 1

**WAR********NING ****AND ****DISCLAIM********ER****:** This fan fiction contains vulgar language. Green Day owns American Idiot.

"_Johnny, where's your guitar?"_

"_I sold it, babe," he lounged across the sofa, yawning at the black-and-white television blaring some fuzzy soap opera. Both of them knew that he wasn't into it; he hated most relationship-based tv shows._

"_Why? I like it when you play."_

_He grinned and sat up. "Honey, I'm pretty sure you'll like what I got you with the money," Jonathan motioned for her to come closer and pulled her onto his lap. _

"_What?" Whatshername asked, halfway torn between insisting that he shouldn't have bothered and throwing her arms around her boyfriend in delight. "What is it?"_

"_You should have seen the death-glares they gave me when I walked into the store," his chin was on her shoulder. So he'd gotten something really expensive…. Oh no, he'd gone and bought something pricey for her and even sold his most prized possession for it!_

_Calloused fingertips caressed her neck, making her shiver slightly. "Close 'em," he ordered. _

_Whatshername did as he said and shut her eyes. She held her breath as Johnny shifted around and mumbled "Shit, where is it?" He hadn't moved much, so it had to be close and small. _

_His hands tenderly brushed against her skin again, something cold and weighty was put around her neck._

"_Open,"_

_Whatshername looked down to find a priceless necklace adorning her neck- well, it was the most "priceless" thing she'd ever worn before. The chain was silver and held a beautiful pendant. The jewelry had real diamonds and her birthstone, nothing big and but still eye-attracting. _

"_Johnny, you didn't!"_

"_You don't like it?"_

"_I do, I do, but you didn't have to!"_

"_Naw, of course I did. I haven't played my guitar in weeks, anyway; it was time for a new pair of hands to love it. I've got _you _to love now, anyway," she could hear the smile in his voice._

_Whatshername leaned back as Jonathan wrapped his arms around her, holding her waist. Things had finally started to go right; it seemed like nothing could break the two apart now…._

_Nothing…._

The woman soon to be known as Whatshername quietly inched the door open, hoping that the shitty apartment wasn't a mess like the last time she'd returned. There was no such luck for her; the floor groaned in a way that made her cringe as she sidestepped a stray shirt on the floor.

He'd been doing it again. The smell of pot made her wrinkle her nose in a more than distasteful manner. How many times had she come home to this? Too many. The couple had enough trouble paying the rent as it was without having his reckless side entertain himself with drugs. All kinds of illegal drugs suited his fancy.

There he was, sprawled out on a beaten mattress on the floor, an empty beer bottle in his hand.

This was not the man Whatshername had fallen for, this wasn't the man who had held her close in the middle of the night and sensually traced his fingers across her back. This wasn't the man who had sold off his guitar to buy her a real diamond necklace for their two-month anniversary. This wasn't the cute, new kid who had shown her a good time and made her believe that he returned her feelings.

Saint Jimmy didn't love her. She hated Jimmy, the name he insisted to be called nowadays since becoming the ringmaster of their group of delinquents.

Whatshername longed for the days before the pill-popping and the blades drawing liquid ruby across his hand. _Just for fun, _the "Saint" had said while stoned. _What did you expect?_

She knelt beside the shell of the man she'd once known, smoothing the hair out of his face. She was sick of this; he was high or drunk all the time. Why? Did she do something? When had Jimmy and the drugs taken over? Was he sick of her?

Whatshername pried the bottle out of his hands and bit back the urge to smash the glass over the monster's head.

She didn't love Jimmy, but that was what he'd become. The rebellious teen had become a drug-dealing cult leader who no longer gave a fuck about his girlfriend. It hurt to admit it, but Whatshername knew that her heart was no longer his; she doubted that there was little of the man she loved left in him. She would do what she had to before it turned ugly. Ugli_er_- that was more like it.

Shaky fingers dialed the phone number of an old friend. Not jittery from fear of hurting him, but rather from worry that he'd harm her after.

_Is this what it's like to fall out of love?_ She asked herself. _Why don't I feel like a cruel, heartless bitch of ice?_

(Hey, thanks for reading! This is just a JimmyxWhatshername two-shot set during the break-up.

I didn't originally intend for this to be a prequel to my other fanfiction, _Hetalian Idiot_, but that's what it's starting to look like. I hope you enjoyed this, I'll put up Jimmy's part when something hits me.)


	2. Chapter 2

Johnny, surprisingly not Jimmy, rolled off of the mattress and onto the floor. He groaned. At least his head wasn't throbbing. He rose and stretched, hearing the familiar voice of his lover. Johnny allowed himself a smile. She was home.

He found her leaning against the grimy countertop in the apartment's excuse for a kitchen; her back was to him as she spoke. "Yeah, that would be great. I'd love to," she twirled a strand of strawberry blond hair around a finger and rubbed one of her ankles with her other converse-clad foot. "No, I'm sure that he won't mind. I'm not sure he really cares for me anymore, so I'd be happy to crash there."

Johnny's blood ran ice cold.

"Hmmm, yeah... that sounds nice. Great, I'll see you there."

As she hung up, Johnny spoke, "who was that?"

His girlfriend jumped, nearly dropping the phone.

"Who was that?" Johnny repeated.

"A friend," Whatshername replied somewhat hesitantly.

"A _friend, _huh? What kind of _friend? _"

Whatshername winced. She could already hear the Saint in his voice. "A really nice friend who's offering me help."

"Help?" Johnny looked confused. "What help? What do you need help for?"

"You" was her answer.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Whatshername bucked up her courage. "I need help for you. You're not... you. You're that stupid 'Saint Jimmy' guy who never shuts up and always wastes every cent that we earn on pot and razor blades. So I'm helping you-"

"What do you mean, 'helping me?"

"I can't stand him. I'm sick of him. I'm leaving. Maybe some other slut will like Jimmy, but it sure as hell won't be me," she folded her arms across her chest and looked him right in the eye. "I don't see the point of sticking around someone I loathe. So unless you can ditch your alter ego in the next five minutes, I'm leaving with my new boyfriend."

"No. You can't-"

"Watch me," she brushed by him and headed for the "closet" in the bedroom, where she pulled out an old suitcase and began throwing her clothes in.

"Honey, sit down, we'll talk it out-"

"No! It won't be _we;_ it'll be me and Jimmy. You're not a part of this relationship anymore; _he _is. And I'm damn tired of it," she folded a pair of jeans hastily and shoved them in her suitcase. "I can't take this place, I'm leaving it behind. I can't take this town; I'm leaving you tonight. And the best part is that no one, not even your pathetic 'saint' is going to stop me. And it definitely will not be you."

Johnny couldn't speak. His body seemed detached from his mind, like he couldn't tell it to step forward and console his girlfriend.

Whatshername clicked the clasps on her suitcase closed. "Last chance. Tell me that you're done and you're quitting everything cold turkey."

"How can I get rid of a part of myself?"

Whatshername picked up her case and promptly exited the room, "How can I break it to you that I've been seeing someone else?"

Johnny's feet were magically unglued from the floor; he couldn't catch her before she was out the front and slammed the door in his face. He whipped it open. "Come back!"

She was nowhere in sight. By the time he was standing outside on the pavement. She was gone. Swooped up by whoever she'd been cheating on Johnny with.

"Come back," Johnny shouted. "For fuck's sake, come back!"

His only response was the neighborhood dogs barking.

"You fucking whore, get your ass back here!" Johnny felt the rage consume him, and he was gone. Jimmy threw a nearby potted plant and screamed at the road for taking her.

By the end of the night, Jimmy had left hours too late, and Johnny was overcome with grief and remorse.

Johnny- he went by Jimmy now as a badge of shame- was huddled up on the mattress, holding the corner of a photograph to a lighter's flame. It ignited, and Jimmy watched the image blacken and curl.

He was hollow ever since he left and gave up the drugs. Saint Jimmy was gone; he'd killed him, but that's who Johnny had become, so that would be what he was to be called.

He was empty.

There was one of the Saint's habits that he hadn't ditched; Jimmy raised the sharp metal edge to his palm and brought it slashing down.  
The blade clattered to the floor while Jimmy buried his face in his bloody hands. He was left alone. He was with no one. He _was_ no one. Everyone had left him when she had.

Not even ten cups of coffee would supply him with the energy or motivation to get up.

He was going to be fired for sure this time. He hadn't even showed up at work all week.

The nineteen - year - old examined his cut and felt a seemingly ancient longing to be in an old familiar bathroom. The loneliness clawed at his heart. He was heartbroken and homesick.

Funny, what he'd called hell back then seemed promising now.

Jimmy sat up, head spinning. That was it; he'd go home and re-start his old life. Yeah, that was it! Forget about Whatshername -it hurt to say it.

He was coming home.

But a week later, he stood in front of his old lawn and saw that this wasn't his old home. It wasn't his family. It was the same house he'd grown up in and run from, but this was a different house.

It was a different family.

Everyone truly had deserted him.

With that thought, he sunk to his knees and with eyes flowing uncontrollably; he added another scar to his wrist.


End file.
